


Deafening

by Wererealtired_butheytheresfanfiction



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Father-Son Relationship, Grieving, Hurt No Comfort, Matos perspective, The knight refers themselves as ghost and pronouns as he/they but not important to the story, hornet is only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wererealtired_butheytheresfanfiction/pseuds/Wererealtired_butheytheresfanfiction
Summary: When the little knight had entered Matos life, he never suspected the relationship that would grow. But his child hasn't visited in such a long time. Mato assumes that is to be suspected of such a busy little warrior. But it couldn't hurt to check in with the little town that rest not too far away from him, right?
Relationships: The Knight & Nailmaster Mato (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Deafening

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this is my first time actually posting something, so criticism is defiantly welcomed!  
> Edit* Finally got around to fixing those mistakes! Thank you TheRechercheRambler!

Not that Mato was unused to the quiet. Living alone, on top of cliffs that few venture, hardly calls for any visitors. It never bothered him, the quiet opens many opportunities for meditation and training. It was even soothing.

So when he heard the tapping of feet, it had surprised him. He adjusted quickly, as any good Nailmaster should, and quickly took the small knight under his training. The little creature was clearly skilled, if unpracticed, with the nail.

They absorbed all of his lessons and patiently meditated with him. Within the first lesson he felt as if he made an incredible connection with the small warrior. He told them such, no shame to be found. Who has time to hold shame when life can be so short at these trying times?

Yet, once again the cloaked knight surprised them by nodding in agreement.

They left shortly after, and he expected that his life would go back to the same quiet that it was before. It did not. The little knight made an effort to visit him every few days to train, to meditate, on rising occasions, to listen to his ramblings of past adventures and old legends. Soon the long unending periods of silence were filled with the gentle rustle of old cloaks, nails clashing together, and timeless periods of quiet breathing.

Mato felt settled, like everything had fallen into place. Before the small knight life was simple and calm, if not a little boring. When the knight had managed to wiggle his way into Matos life, it felt like his favorite cloak was shifted ever so slightly just so that everything felt right.

When he hadn’t heard his small knights footsteps, hadn’t seen a glimpse of their small stature, in three days he didn’t let panic set in. Sometimes the little knight got busy and couldn’t visit every few days. To be expected of his little knight, always running around and helping people like a proper warrior.

Panicking would be an overreaction, and overreactions can be fatal for any warrior, no matter how skilled. But he worried. The small knight's skill surely surpassed his own, but Hallownest is big and filled with many dangers. So he worried.

He worried and worried and worried for seven days.

Seven days.

He watched the door. He hasn't slept the past two days in case his small knight came in late. He watched the door. He is done watching the door.

Mato stands, and securing his hold on his nail, heads out the door. Mato remembers an old quiet town at the base of the cliff, maybe he would find something about his little knight there?

Mato made it down to the base of the cliff in no time, only momentarily wondering why there is a lack of infected bugs. His little knight certainly has no trouble clearing them out, but so thoroughly? He shakes his head and continues his small journey to the small village(Dirt-lip? Moss-Mouth?), sparing no time. He is sure that the little knight is fine. Perhaps he got held up on some mission? Maybe he should have left a note in case he missed his little knight?

Before he could dwell any further he heard a voice called out, “Why hello there traveler!”

Mato looked ahead and saw an old bug sitting on a bench, his back bent with age. He probably didn't travel much, but he might know where his small knight had gone. He waved as he walked up to the elder.

“Hello there sir! I am on an urgent mission and have a feeling that you might be able to answer a few questions!”

“All you travelers are so eager.” The old bug chuckled, (if with a bit of bitterness). Something sad crossed his face, but he shook it off, and gave Mato a bit of a look. “Well, what is your question?”

“I am on a bit of a search and am looking for my student. I was hoping you might have seen them? They are on the small side, but hold great skill with the nail. They don’t say much with words, but rather speak with actions.”

As Mato spoke his heart sank, lower and lower in sync with the elders rapidly paling complexion. He watched as the elder seemed to sink down into the bench, taking in a shaky breath.

“You search for the young warrior?”

Mato nods, something curling at the base of his shell. It felt very much like panic. The elder lets out a sorrowful sigh, and pulls himself up, his grip on his cane painful to even look at. He begins walking into the old town, only stopping enough to throw over his shoulder a, “Follow me.”

Mato did, his legs trembling and his very core seemed to flutter around in his shell. He.. He does not want to see what the old bug has to show him. He doesn’t want to know why the old bug had slumped over with grief, why his steps seemed slow with sorrow. (He doesn’t want to know, but he does. He knows, and he is scared.)

He needs to know. He can not stand aside and not know what happened to his student. He needs to see for himself what has happened.

When they walk into a graveyard, he feels his soul leave.

When they walk up to a secluded spot where a vase holding a white, delicate looking flower, he drops to his knees.

There, just beyond the small decoration, lies his student. Or rather what's left. His young students' masks lay broken, cracked in half, their nail resting next to them. It almost looked romantic, beautiful. A true artist touch.

His brother would have loved it. Something dark and heavy filled Mato, as he felt tears slip down. His little knight. His young warrior, dead. The thought seemed unfathomable. But here is the presented proof.

“H-how-?” The elder patted his shoulder in understanding.

“I don’t know much. They left one day alone. The sickness was worse than ever, we could smell it from here. But then, it was as if it disappeared. Faded. A warrior, similar in appearance to our young warrior, she was-was-” The elder stopped to compose himself. “She gave us what remained of our young warrior. Told us that they had defeated the infection. That they had sacrificed their lives for Hallownest. That- that they should rest amongst the people they saved.” The old bug stuttered out, tears pricking his own eyes.

Mato nodded. It. It seemed well enough like his little knight. They always did have something of a big heart. They showed that enough to him with each presented visit, even once a painting and letter that could have never come from anyone but his brothers. Though most would look at his little warriors silence as apathy, Mato saw it as a burden, a struggle, for how can one scream and release their pain if all they knew was silence?

Mato clutched at the grass below him, feeling his tears fall, soaking into the ground. His little warrior. Oh his precious precious knight. 

Despite all the noise(the creaking of doors far off, the elders rambling voice warbling off condolences, the wind rustling, bugs chattering, laughter laughter laughter), Mato can't but help feel as if there is too little. Too little too much noise.

He walks home. He doesn't remember leaving the cemetery. Just leaving. He doesn't know if the elder bug tried to stop him. He doesn't care.

As he makes his way up the Howling Cliffs he notes the there is no infected bugs. At least he knows why now. He wipes of some tears. He doesn't think that he stopped crying since- since-

He closes his door. He carefully leans his nail against its stand. Always treat your nail with respect, even in moments of rage, hurt, or grief. His old master use to say that, although he usually referred that phrase for the first two options.

Mato sits. He tries to meditate.

But the silence. 

There is no quiet tapping.

No familiar rustle of a cloak that is much much smaller than his own.

No small nail being set aside so that his little knight could sit comfortably next to him. 

No noise.

Silence.

The silence is deafening.


End file.
